Where I come from (a revisit)

Hello to the world. Or at least, to the portion of the world that reads this blog. It’s been a while. I’m sorry.

I was working on a writing prompt for some creative nonfiction today when I started thinking about my “Where I Come From” piece that I wrote a little over a year ago (link here), and I decided to give that same prompt another shot. It actually astounds me how different my writing style is now, and which details I choose to pay attention to these days.

Without further ado:

Where I Come From (a year later)

I come from days in a garden fifty feet from Lake Lanier, up to my elbows in weeds and up to my eyeballs in dirt. I come from daisy chains as long as the earth and pretending at magic during lunchtime. I come from PB&J cut into the shape of my initials, from Green Gables and Black Beauty and as many books from the library as I could fit into the trunk of the car, from fairy tales to the stories I was probably too young to comprehend in full but maybe that’s why the words stuck, forcing an older me to return time and time again.
I come from watching sports-themed video games over my brother’s shoulder, holding a controller that did nothing, pretending I was in control. I come from a little chaos, from self-cut bangs when I was five, neatened up into a haircut that was good enough for school pictures by the salon my mother went to, where I still go now every six months. I come from burning my tongue on too-hot tea and soothing it with honey when I was home from school and in wrapped in blankets, listening to the Beatles and watching a movie about an selkies and storms, island lore and what the word home really means. From crocheted hats and hand-knotted friendship bracelets, from libraries and the kids’ section at Barnes and Noble, and Borders back when it existed, from long bike rides and Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies because come on, goldfish aren’t exciting enough.
I come from red glass hearts and best friends forever, from camping out in tents in the living room and climbing trees only to leap from the limbs, again and again. I come from Glo-sticks and sparkling apple cider and fondue on New Years Eve, from staying up late for chocolate mousse cake one night every summer, from never wanting to grow up but always wanting to be older, from tagging along with the years ahead of me until I was living them, looking back thinking of what I might have missed and agonizing over my own follies.
I come from casting out crabbing lines and pitching hermit shells back into the sea, from hot chocolate made with milk on the stove on rainy days after school, and lemonade sales indoors because what else were we supposed to do with all of those cookies. I come from chapter books read in a crack of light when I was supposed to be asleep, from yelling out incorrect song lyrics to the show tunes playing off of the iPod or CD in the car at the top of my lungs.
I come from sunburn and a million bottles of aloe vera, from Italian pastries and corn pudding at Thanksgiving, pumpkin pie on Halloween, and grilled okra instead of fried. I come from too many blueberries and green beans to cook on our own, from catching bumblebees and reading A Midsummer Night’s Dream too many times to count, from Hebrew lessons on Wednesdays, from eighteen-hour car rides and from seven-mile-long runs.
I come from history, fictional and not, but all of it real, from my tongue and ears and eyes and the very tips of my fingers, and the deep part of my nose where it almost hurts to keep inhaling. I come from the stories my senses weave, ragged edges and neat, frayed threads and not, clear images and hazy where some are lost to memory, but are a part of the tapestry of me all the same.

I haven’t written much this summer. Not much on here, anyway. I did, however, write another novel (more info on that will be happening here), working title Light of the Oceans. And I got a job at an art museum. I’ll write a more official post about that, and what’s been going on with me creatively and writing-wise sometime in the next week or so.

To those of you who haven’t unfollowed me or something the past few weeks, thanks for being patient—I love you all!

Later,

Maxxe

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